Have you ever had a chunky girlfriend (or significant other) that lost a significant amount of weight, and when you look at the before and after pictures you wonder - why?
Leave me be a pig tonight. I've earned it damnit. I need a break from being a gentleman. Women hate those - REMEMBER!
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Cute-Toed-Girl
Soundtrack: Local H - Twelve Angry Months
Cute-Toed-Girl - - well, she's more than a girl. She is an intelligent young woman with the social happenings of a radical girl. I met her earlier this summer during the first summer session at the university. We were instantly comfortable around one another, sitting side by side, absorbing information, trading study tactics, and growing annoyed simultaneously with the other classmates.
People could say her face was plain, but I called it beautiful all the same. It was the mind behind the face with the dark soul-panes that I liked. She was sharp, ruthless for a good grade; I couldn't help but at the very least be slightly smitten. On this particular day of discovery, she was wearing a lime green vest over a brighter, similar colored tank top with a skirt that had a matching grass pattern with speckles of lavender colored flowers all around. Her legs showed that she tried to stay fit; her small size makes her easily susceptible to weight gain. Her footwear were plain colored fashion sandals that exposed those adorable feet-digits. They were the cutest toes I had ever seen. Most women in my area have outstretched, battered toes inherited from their mothers and grandmothers who typically work eight to sixteen hours a day all on their feet, walking everywhere they went, but her toes were short and perfectly round like a blossoming spring-time bud, making her much more unique considering it was summer.
We maintained a steady friendship, never venturing beyond our cordial boundaries. She told me about her life, her troubles with men. I told her things about me that kept her telling me more about herself.
On that last day, that lingering spark of attraction escaped the shadow of idea and fleshed itself out into reality. She wore pink and white converse shoes. We were sitting outside the classroom awaiting for the previous class to leave; I told her how cute I thought her toes were. Her 'thank you' was strong and undoubtedly appreciative. She mentioned that she is very self-conscious about her feet, she went on, and had she known I was looking she would have pulled them away from my eyes. I told her I figured she would, so I never said anything until then.
The day of our class final I kept my headphones wrapped around my ears, losing myself in Nada Surf's Lucky album. She studied, but awkwardly she wouldn't stop looking at me. I wanted to give her all the possible to peruse her notes. She gained control of herself and did, but occasionally she still glanced in my direction. I desperately wanted to acknowledge her, but couldn't. Our hearts were right, our minds were close, but our social worlds were so different - she still enjoyed the outings that a young person should; the night clubs and the parties. I didn't; I never had. Plus, she still had ties to an on-off-again boyfriend, which I wanted no part of. As much as we knew about one another, it wasn't enough. Maybe she was the type of woman who needed drama in her life. I'm too easygoing and focused to be trifled with that unnecessary headache.
And yet....maybe I could have used a little drama.
We took our exams. Our last class day, we compared grade; I beat her by four points. We said bye, and we hugged. It was a hug that never wanted to end. We pulled apart, and for a brief moment the silence was begging to be filled. We looked in each others' eyes, both begging for the other to say something, and all I came up with was "bye."
I have yet to see her again. I hope she's well. I hope she's happy. Her toes are still the cutest ones I have ever seen.
Somehow, I find myself having to move on from her at least once a year. She just pops into my head; I'm not sure what the subconscious trigger is, but annually I keep moving on. It's all we've ever done, all we can ever do.
Cute-Toed-Girl - - well, she's more than a girl. She is an intelligent young woman with the social happenings of a radical girl. I met her earlier this summer during the first summer session at the university. We were instantly comfortable around one another, sitting side by side, absorbing information, trading study tactics, and growing annoyed simultaneously with the other classmates.
People could say her face was plain, but I called it beautiful all the same. It was the mind behind the face with the dark soul-panes that I liked. She was sharp, ruthless for a good grade; I couldn't help but at the very least be slightly smitten. On this particular day of discovery, she was wearing a lime green vest over a brighter, similar colored tank top with a skirt that had a matching grass pattern with speckles of lavender colored flowers all around. Her legs showed that she tried to stay fit; her small size makes her easily susceptible to weight gain. Her footwear were plain colored fashion sandals that exposed those adorable feet-digits. They were the cutest toes I had ever seen. Most women in my area have outstretched, battered toes inherited from their mothers and grandmothers who typically work eight to sixteen hours a day all on their feet, walking everywhere they went, but her toes were short and perfectly round like a blossoming spring-time bud, making her much more unique considering it was summer.
We maintained a steady friendship, never venturing beyond our cordial boundaries. She told me about her life, her troubles with men. I told her things about me that kept her telling me more about herself.
On that last day, that lingering spark of attraction escaped the shadow of idea and fleshed itself out into reality. She wore pink and white converse shoes. We were sitting outside the classroom awaiting for the previous class to leave; I told her how cute I thought her toes were. Her 'thank you' was strong and undoubtedly appreciative. She mentioned that she is very self-conscious about her feet, she went on, and had she known I was looking she would have pulled them away from my eyes. I told her I figured she would, so I never said anything until then.
The day of our class final I kept my headphones wrapped around my ears, losing myself in Nada Surf's Lucky album. She studied, but awkwardly she wouldn't stop looking at me. I wanted to give her all the possible to peruse her notes. She gained control of herself and did, but occasionally she still glanced in my direction. I desperately wanted to acknowledge her, but couldn't. Our hearts were right, our minds were close, but our social worlds were so different - she still enjoyed the outings that a young person should; the night clubs and the parties. I didn't; I never had. Plus, she still had ties to an on-off-again boyfriend, which I wanted no part of. As much as we knew about one another, it wasn't enough. Maybe she was the type of woman who needed drama in her life. I'm too easygoing and focused to be trifled with that unnecessary headache.
And yet....maybe I could have used a little drama.
We took our exams. Our last class day, we compared grade; I beat her by four points. We said bye, and we hugged. It was a hug that never wanted to end. We pulled apart, and for a brief moment the silence was begging to be filled. We looked in each others' eyes, both begging for the other to say something, and all I came up with was "bye."
I have yet to see her again. I hope she's well. I hope she's happy. Her toes are still the cutest ones I have ever seen.
Somehow, I find myself having to move on from her at least once a year. She just pops into my head; I'm not sure what the subconscious trigger is, but annually I keep moving on. It's all we've ever done, all we can ever do.
Explosions
Explosions occur every day all around the planet. Most of them are underground as the Earth slowly regenerates itself, like scab forming on a wound, eventually becoming new flesh. Sometimes these explosions spread their actions to the surface. Volcanoes all around the globe have been acting up lately, some of them even having been dormant for as long as over 9000 years.
Man creates explosions, with some even mastering the art of combustion. They can make a large object explode or implode. They can decide how long the explosion will last, and even what color the explosion will be.
Within our minds, man explodes every day. We lose our job. Someone dies. Our love leaves us. Some people explode largely, unleashing all their frustrations out at once. Sometimes its harmless, other times blood is spilled; maybe theirs, maybe someone elses.
Some people explode lightly; one tiny burst at a time until the big one happens. Those usually involve bloodshed. And some people control their explosions, waiting to discharge on the right person(s).
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Man creates explosions, with some even mastering the art of combustion. They can make a large object explode or implode. They can decide how long the explosion will last, and even what color the explosion will be.
Within our minds, man explodes every day. We lose our job. Someone dies. Our love leaves us. Some people explode largely, unleashing all their frustrations out at once. Sometimes its harmless, other times blood is spilled; maybe theirs, maybe someone elses.
Some people explode lightly; one tiny burst at a time until the big one happens. Those usually involve bloodshed. And some people control their explosions, waiting to discharge on the right person(s).
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
The Lost Channel
I've been reduced to threatening my television. The Tri-Nations rugby season has begun and it seems my cable provider no longer carries the station showing it. I'm yelling at the ugly transmissions box, demanding it show a channel that is all likely not there.
I think I'll go outside, where it's been raining for nearly a week (and I can't tell you how much that pleases me, especially when living on the third bump of hell's right testicle); but I think I'll go outside and find some stray cats to yell at, even though all they do is look at me like I'm a retarded gorilla that ate their fish. Then, I feel guilty and get them some fish.
I think I'll stick with yelling at people and telelvisions that won't give me rugby.
I think I'll go outside, where it's been raining for nearly a week (and I can't tell you how much that pleases me, especially when living on the third bump of hell's right testicle); but I think I'll go outside and find some stray cats to yell at, even though all they do is look at me like I'm a retarded gorilla that ate their fish. Then, I feel guilty and get them some fish.
I think I'll stick with yelling at people and telelvisions that won't give me rugby.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Alone, Not Lonely
Alright, bastards. I had to go to summer sessions, meaning I couldn't concentrate on my prose work; so I was forced back into poetry. Blame yourselves; it's easier for all of us.
Alone, Not Lonely
Laughing atop a cloud;
A cloud shrouding the mind,
Blinding eyes to problems defined.
Life has been good, but nowehere near great.
Nothing of passing relevance that others would consider
Exquisite, lavish, or radiant.
To an outsider, the littlest of little things need be large indeed
For them to comprehend the sense of happiness
Within the circle where all but one, the most loving one,
Never seems to unerstand, recognize, or about them implore
A person that loves their people,
But loves being alone slightly more.
Alone, Not Lonely
Laughing atop a cloud;
A cloud shrouding the mind,
Blinding eyes to problems defined.
Life has been good, but nowehere near great.
Nothing of passing relevance that others would consider
Exquisite, lavish, or radiant.
To an outsider, the littlest of little things need be large indeed
For them to comprehend the sense of happiness
Within the circle where all but one, the most loving one,
Never seems to unerstand, recognize, or about them implore
A person that loves their people,
But loves being alone slightly more.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Judgemental and Violated
Sitting at the library pub, which isn't a dyslexic term for public library. That shit went out the wayside when the cold fronts began and coats with bottle-portable pockets became an every day necessity.
Studying as I was, a young woman walked my way. To my right were some vacant computer terminals. I dressed in my long-sleeved grey sweatshirt and exercise pants had my nose buried in my testing notes, though I'd be lying if I said she didnt strike my fancy. She herself was decked out in running garments; a bit tight, I might say.
I suppose disgusted her a bit. She made a quick b-line to the vacant terminals on the other side of the room. I wasn't offended; I'm used to disgusting the general public. They disgust me more times in a day than a gonzo porno playing in a catholic convent. I don't think "love thy neighbor" meant sticking dildo drills and analbeads into frumpy, nerve damaged orifices of women that look like your niece.
Soon though, a slender, uptight, well dressed man found his way to the same station as the lady runner, occupying the vacant terminal next to her. It got me to thinking - - hope she doesn't mind passing up the scruffy looking gentleman who would have left her alone for the suit and tie, serial killer the media has dubbed The Wound Fucker. He slices his victims; bores holes in them, and then molests the wounds.
Either that, or they're going gonzo right now.
Studying as I was, a young woman walked my way. To my right were some vacant computer terminals. I dressed in my long-sleeved grey sweatshirt and exercise pants had my nose buried in my testing notes, though I'd be lying if I said she didnt strike my fancy. She herself was decked out in running garments; a bit tight, I might say.
I suppose disgusted her a bit. She made a quick b-line to the vacant terminals on the other side of the room. I wasn't offended; I'm used to disgusting the general public. They disgust me more times in a day than a gonzo porno playing in a catholic convent. I don't think "love thy neighbor" meant sticking dildo drills and analbeads into frumpy, nerve damaged orifices of women that look like your niece.
Soon though, a slender, uptight, well dressed man found his way to the same station as the lady runner, occupying the vacant terminal next to her. It got me to thinking - - hope she doesn't mind passing up the scruffy looking gentleman who would have left her alone for the suit and tie, serial killer the media has dubbed The Wound Fucker. He slices his victims; bores holes in them, and then molests the wounds.
Either that, or they're going gonzo right now.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Itchy Nose Ass-Fucking
The generations arive sooner and sooner. A whole lotta fucking going on. Did you know fucking is the only infix in the English language.
But the world's creating more languages now. Text speak skipped into the real world. So did formatting.
Everyone's been fucking.
..Annnd fucking and fucking fucking and fucking fucking and fucking.
Well - enough fucking for the rest of us.
But the world's creating more languages now. Text speak skipped into the real world. So did formatting.
Everyone's been fucking.
..Annnd fucking and fucking fucking and fucking fucking and fucking.
Well - enough fucking for the rest of us.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Recursion Bandit
FINALLY.
Finally had a good chest-day. Injuries suck and waiting for the cables is as close to mental sate masochism as I've been in years. I remember now why I stopped.
Today was different. I've found the proper time zone for chest-day.
Oh, I love making mistakes. Not the life-shattering ones any more; you know, not the I Said There'd Be Blood kinds of mistakers, for there are more than a handful of subcategories for such things. Especially with blood involved.
Just the innocent mistakes. The ones that sting because you want them to. They don't shatter the stratosphere, in fact they help you reestablish yourself, or, "check yoself, fool." as the kids say these days. I was partial to "fuck off or get raped with an elbow" myself.
Finally had a good chest-day. Injuries suck and waiting for the cables is as close to mental sate masochism as I've been in years. I remember now why I stopped.
Today was different. I've found the proper time zone for chest-day.
Oh, I love making mistakes. Not the life-shattering ones any more; you know, not the I Said There'd Be Blood kinds of mistakers, for there are more than a handful of subcategories for such things. Especially with blood involved.
Just the innocent mistakes. The ones that sting because you want them to. They don't shatter the stratosphere, in fact they help you reestablish yourself, or, "check yoself, fool." as the kids say these days. I was partial to "fuck off or get raped with an elbow" myself.
Longshot Died Anyway
The nights are getting longer. The routine-cycle is spinning again, and again we're having to shift quicker than we wanted to, but that's never a bad thing. I'm manking new mistakes, and thinking about new people to make new mistakes to make with; things are so different without the fences around anymore.
They were supposed to be cages...
....but really, they were fences. We could have jumped them anytime we wanted to. The shooting towers kinda messed things up for us.
Then that whole hypnotic suicide shit.
They were supposed to be cages...
....but really, they were fences. We could have jumped them anytime we wanted to. The shooting towers kinda messed things up for us.
Then that whole hypnotic suicide shit.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Angry John
A friend of mine used to work for a nursing school. This particular nursing school used to be a brothel. Through verbal passage I heard the stories of the debautchery that occured one single night while this brothel was happening.
It turns out that this brothel, which became a nursing school, is the sight of a massacre. An angry boyfriend discovered that his significant other was a prostitute at this brothel. One night, he entered the premises and butchered everyone in sight.
The place even has a pool.
Nice.
It turns out that this brothel, which became a nursing school, is the sight of a massacre. An angry boyfriend discovered that his significant other was a prostitute at this brothel. One night, he entered the premises and butchered everyone in sight.
The place even has a pool.
Nice.
Friday, May 30, 2008
L.A. Lakers vs. Boston Celtics 2008
Aaaah, 2008, and we have the first Boston Celtics vs. Los Angeles Lakers matchup in the NBA Finals in twenty-one years. Why am I not excited?
How many fouls are going to be called in this series? There is a momentum, a rush, and an excitement built when an NBA playoff game gets going; and I mean truly going only to be shutdown, crushed by a modern day foul, which ususally is the equivalent to that of a love tap in the past. Maybe I'm old school, maybe I'm not willing to adjust to the new no-touch-no-tap rules of the modern day NBA.
Playing basketball means you will bust somebody in the chest if they try to drive through the paint; you will damn near headbutt somebody if they try to dunk or layup on you. The game of basketball is much more physical than the modern NBA would care to admit.
And I feel for Rasheed Wallace. The NBA does not need to fine Rasheed Wallace $25 g's for his verbal tirade the other night. The NBA needs more Rasheed Wallaces because ALL major league sports; the NBA, NFL, MLB, and soon MLS (mostly because of desperation to attract a North American audience) rely on entertainment. It's no longer about the sport itself, it's about entertainment. And they think people don't watch wrestling. North American wrestling has sports entertainment nailed down, which is why it is an abomination.
There is one other reason why I cannot get excited for this new age rivalry.
Kobe.
I wish he would just admit that this NBA championship run is all about him. He is a wonderful politician. When someone asks him a question about his contribution to the game he pulls out the "we" card, but in his eyes, and please, look into his eyes; it is all about Kobe.
I would have no problems with it if he would only admit it; it's all about Kobe. Who wanted the trade one year ago, Kobe? Who wanted out of Los Angeles one year ago? And who's boss went and got what a certain player wanted one year ago, Kobe?
I am, despite it all, picking the Lakers over the Celtics.
Oh, and I hope Emperor Stern allows them to actually play the fucking game. My largest concern is that there will be a foul called on every other damn play; let them play the fricking game the way it was meant to be played - - - - - - IF these new age, no-hit-taking, sad-face-making, every-time-an-elbow-waves-them "athletes" can handle it.
How many fouls are going to be called in this series? There is a momentum, a rush, and an excitement built when an NBA playoff game gets going; and I mean truly going only to be shutdown, crushed by a modern day foul, which ususally is the equivalent to that of a love tap in the past. Maybe I'm old school, maybe I'm not willing to adjust to the new no-touch-no-tap rules of the modern day NBA.
Playing basketball means you will bust somebody in the chest if they try to drive through the paint; you will damn near headbutt somebody if they try to dunk or layup on you. The game of basketball is much more physical than the modern NBA would care to admit.
And I feel for Rasheed Wallace. The NBA does not need to fine Rasheed Wallace $25 g's for his verbal tirade the other night. The NBA needs more Rasheed Wallaces because ALL major league sports; the NBA, NFL, MLB, and soon MLS (mostly because of desperation to attract a North American audience) rely on entertainment. It's no longer about the sport itself, it's about entertainment. And they think people don't watch wrestling. North American wrestling has sports entertainment nailed down, which is why it is an abomination.
There is one other reason why I cannot get excited for this new age rivalry.
Kobe.
I wish he would just admit that this NBA championship run is all about him. He is a wonderful politician. When someone asks him a question about his contribution to the game he pulls out the "we" card, but in his eyes, and please, look into his eyes; it is all about Kobe.
I would have no problems with it if he would only admit it; it's all about Kobe. Who wanted the trade one year ago, Kobe? Who wanted out of Los Angeles one year ago? And who's boss went and got what a certain player wanted one year ago, Kobe?
I am, despite it all, picking the Lakers over the Celtics.
Oh, and I hope Emperor Stern allows them to actually play the fucking game. My largest concern is that there will be a foul called on every other damn play; let them play the fricking game the way it was meant to be played - - - - - - IF these new age, no-hit-taking, sad-face-making, every-time-an-elbow-waves-them "athletes" can handle it.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Buried Lake
There is a tree in window's view of our business. That tree is an island unto itself, surrounded by a lake. If you were to walk to it, though, you wouldn't see the lake, and looking through the window all anyone can see anyway is a full dried brush field and the tree. One would have to dig through thousands of years of Earth's intangibles; chemical and physical reactions that would slowly muddy and eventually blanket the countryside oasis.
Now, where that lake once was, a shadow looms. A shadow of the tree and its extended branches coated with green and some dry dead weight. The heat, magnified immensley by severe humidity, bores its synging power down upon the open area, but the tree; the tree stands alone. Beneath the tree and above the buried lake is the shade, forever keeping the buried lake cool and ready, should it ever rise once again.
Now, where that lake once was, a shadow looms. A shadow of the tree and its extended branches coated with green and some dry dead weight. The heat, magnified immensley by severe humidity, bores its synging power down upon the open area, but the tree; the tree stands alone. Beneath the tree and above the buried lake is the shade, forever keeping the buried lake cool and ready, should it ever rise once again.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Stardust (Movie)
Watched Stardust for the first time this past weekend. I was a bit weary; I've read the novel and graphic novel several times, and Neil Gaiman does not translate so easily to film. Mirrormask is a prime example. His words are the main stars, forcing one to pay close attention to the script, yet, the visuals he inspire are so spectacular it almost makes watching one of his films a two-brain job; almost like reading invisible subtitles.
Stardust was a pleasure. Claire Danes did not make me want to purposely shit myself to find an excuse to leave the viewing room. That's a first.
I was surprised how faithful the film was to the novel, and then the third act hit, and the bold magic that Gaiman's worlds often provide was nearly the film's own demise, but that's one of the deterred issues when translating prose or graphic novel work to live-action. What's in the original pages are stimulating to the brain, but when shown on screen; it could easily lull a casual observer to sleep.
The decision makers in the Stardust movie decided to step up the action near the end, and it felt out of place, but did not deflate any of the charm and wonder that the whole product sparked. I thought it was well done.
It's On
I don't really like to look back on things unless I'm willing to learn from them, which is quite typical. I get what I need, ususally from a mistake; why I made it, what I did to make it....and so on.
I'd like to think I haven't made any critical mistakes these past few months. It doesn't feel like I have. I know I don't like opening up to people, let alone a second-life tech world where as much of your life is on display for any and all that wish to read or watch it.
Life has not slumped, it's just ceased to be interesting, and I'm sure it's my fault, for the most part.
Asia's suffering quite a bit right now, the UK is now allowing you and yor pets to squeeze out DNA which scientists will allow to dry hump and fuck one another; America's really becoming a bitch to live in, unless you bleed or shit money.
Life has become interesting again, but right when you are about to start a new one, the spectral physics of it change the rules yet again.
I'm game. Bring it, bitch.
I'd like to think I haven't made any critical mistakes these past few months. It doesn't feel like I have. I know I don't like opening up to people, let alone a second-life tech world where as much of your life is on display for any and all that wish to read or watch it.
Life has not slumped, it's just ceased to be interesting, and I'm sure it's my fault, for the most part.
Asia's suffering quite a bit right now, the UK is now allowing you and yor pets to squeeze out DNA which scientists will allow to dry hump and fuck one another; America's really becoming a bitch to live in, unless you bleed or shit money.
Life has become interesting again, but right when you are about to start a new one, the spectral physics of it change the rules yet again.
I'm game. Bring it, bitch.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Time For Change
Depression is a son of a bitch. I've been coping with it lately; all day today. I just stepped out of the house maybe thirty minutes ago.
I know where it's coming from, me being my own worst enemy and all, and I know what I need to do to get things back to some semblance of normality.
It's time for a change. A big change. A very big change.
I know where it's coming from, me being my own worst enemy and all, and I know what I need to do to get things back to some semblance of normality.
It's time for a change. A big change. A very big change.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Behind It All
There isn't a wave that importance rides too far away,
So far away that the sun couldn't even reach it. Miniscule bits
Of history and science,
A little bit of blood and code, Both types
Decipherable only be what lives behind the stars
And behind the darkness that is always there;
Was always there;
And will meet us when we are no longer here.
So far away that the sun couldn't even reach it. Miniscule bits
Of history and science,
A little bit of blood and code, Both types
Decipherable only be what lives behind the stars
And behind the darkness that is always there;
Was always there;
And will meet us when we are no longer here.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Fight Sleep
Fighting sleep again. The wind is agreeing with me, things are overblown, damaging the soul along the way. Just some bruises. Thicker skin helps and has been a pleasuer to have. It makes things so much easier. There's only one person that can screw up your life that way.
I miss dreams. I miss the walks on the beach that make me want to visit the beach. I miss drowning sometimes because I know one of these nights I will swim.
The revolution is coming. Pieces are in place. Things are going so well, I'm really expecting something to screw me up in these coming months, maybe even weeks.
I miss dreams. I miss the walks on the beach that make me want to visit the beach. I miss drowning sometimes because I know one of these nights I will swim.
The revolution is coming. Pieces are in place. Things are going so well, I'm really expecting something to screw me up in these coming months, maybe even weeks.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Congress
Serisouly, get a fucking life, get a fucking clue; get a fucking happy ending from the Korean stretch-goddess, capable of penetrating any slight opening on your person, your body, your physical shell.
But Congress - - FUCK. YOU.
I could care less about what Roger Clemens injected into his ass on what date.
As a fitness enthusiast I know who needs what for what, and I, like the greater nuber of the American public, could care less about what sad piece of metal-drip doesn't get to go inside a person's ass.
It's not your blood dying afar. It's not your livliehood being threatened. You have no idea what the "common" person feels, thinks, or endures every damn day. You don't know what America is anymore - - the REAL America.
I have no sympathy for any of you - in what is going to happen - and what is to become.
You are not survivalists. People like me are. We live to live. We breathe so we know we're still breathing, which let's us know we're still alive. And being alive means having choices.
That's where God and democracy fucked up. You let me have a mind of my own.
But Congress - - FUCK. YOU.
I could care less about what Roger Clemens injected into his ass on what date.
As a fitness enthusiast I know who needs what for what, and I, like the greater nuber of the American public, could care less about what sad piece of metal-drip doesn't get to go inside a person's ass.
It's not your blood dying afar. It's not your livliehood being threatened. You have no idea what the "common" person feels, thinks, or endures every damn day. You don't know what America is anymore - - the REAL America.
I have no sympathy for any of you - in what is going to happen - and what is to become.
You are not survivalists. People like me are. We live to live. We breathe so we know we're still breathing, which let's us know we're still alive. And being alive means having choices.
That's where God and democracy fucked up. You let me have a mind of my own.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Working for A Living
I don't know how to have fun on the internet. Yet, when I feel like I am, people get scared.
Internet is the absolute best place for schizos and other multi-personality type.
People got stabbed in a theater in California. The newest trend has begun, yet, it's so far behind schedule.
Internet is the absolute best place for schizos and other multi-personality type.
People got stabbed in a theater in California. The newest trend has begun, yet, it's so far behind schedule.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Hurricane Gorilla Bitch
Sometimes I'm glad the wind still scares me.
I'm tired of humidity. Tired of banal excuses behiind lackluster progression.
I'm tired of people around me being a decade-plus behind the rest of the world. I do see its benefits, and the way this world is heading; the road the human race is forcing it to take for itself, I am afraid, but I am so excited.
I live in one of the best areas. But I hate it. So I'm just waiting - success or no man's land - whichever comes first.
Personally speaking, I'm rooting for no man's land.
'Bout fucking time.
I'm tired of humidity. Tired of banal excuses behiind lackluster progression.
I'm tired of people around me being a decade-plus behind the rest of the world. I do see its benefits, and the way this world is heading; the road the human race is forcing it to take for itself, I am afraid, but I am so excited.
I live in one of the best areas. But I hate it. So I'm just waiting - success or no man's land - whichever comes first.
Personally speaking, I'm rooting for no man's land.
'Bout fucking time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)